Razor's Edge (19 page)

Roxanne was, too. And the sooner she went to bed, the sooner Tanner would tell her his ideas. For now, she had hope, and that was more than she'd had when she'd walked into the room.

She wasn't sure exactly how he'd managed to turn her worry around, but she was grateful he had.

She stepped forward, and with his hands on her shoulders, she was able to press herself against his body. She hugged him tight, pressing her cheek against his hard chest and reveling in the feel of the muscles sliding under the skin of his back.

His arms wrapped around her, returning the hug.

She didn't let it last long. It felt too good for that, and anything that felt that good had to be wrong.

Roxanne pulled away, unable to meet his gaze. She walked to her door and opened it, giving him the unmistakable hint he should go.

He did, and the room suddenly felt empty and bleak without him.

 

 

Norma Stynger answered the call from one of her men stationed in the town of Dry Valley. Keeping an eye on the locals was important, and the best way to do that was to use someone no one would suspect—someone who'd lived there all his life.

S-eight-nine had been born there. He'd left to serve his country, and after a few years, Norma had been able to get her hands on him.

He'd come home to a parade, and Sheriff Bream had offered him a job working for the sheriff's office whenever he wanted it. She'd ordered him to accept the position. That had been two years ago, and S-eight-nine had become an invaluable resource.

“A doctor was murdered in town today. We have video of the man who did it, and I'm certain he's one of ours. I thought you would want to know.”

Norma stifled the momentary flutter of panic that news caused. “Is he in custody?”

“No, but we're looking for him.”

“Were there any witnesses?”

“Besides the camera? A nurse was also shot. She could probably identify him.”

There were only a handful of subjects working in this area. Most of them did countersurveillance work, ensuring that the facility was never located by outsiders. Anyone who got too close was killed, and their body was split open and left under the sun for the animals to dispose of. It took only hours. She had to marvel at nature's efficiency.

“Take care of her,” ordered Norma. “She's a threat to the project.”

“Yes, ma'am. There were two other people who stumbled across the scene after our man left. Do you want me to take care of them as well?”

“Did they see him?”

“No, but there is one odd coincidence. Our man told the nurse he was looking for a woman named Roxanne. The woman here also has that name.”

That was no coincidence. The odds were too slim. S-eleven-sixteen's contact was here—perhaps with the subject's diary.

A flash of panic assailed Norma before she could control it. There was no need for hysterics. The woman may have figured out where to find them, but there was no way she could know the exact location of the facility. S-eleven-sixteen didn't know, so it stood to reason that she couldn't, either. Besides, it was hidden well. Guarded. Only someone who knew the land and the security measures would have a chance at slipping by without being killed.

Still, this woman was a risk, and Norma didn't like the idea of her asking questions or raising suspicions in town. They were not going to move again because of Roxanne Haught. She wasn't worth the trouble.

“Do you know where she is?” Norma asked S-eight-nine.

“At the Hall's B and B. Second floor. They were put in the rooms on the east, the ones with the balcony.”

“I'll have the general deal with them. Keep the authorities away for the rest of the night.”

“Won't their deaths raise too many suspicions, ma'am?”

“I won't have them killed there. The woman may still be of some use.” If S-eleven-sixteen cared for Roxanne Haught, Norma would be able to use her to verify that his induction was complete and successful. This was a rare scientific opportunity, and Norma couldn't let it slip by.

T
anner could still feel the heat of Razor's slender body pressed against his as he made his way to his room next door.

He'd wanted to stay. He didn't like the idea of leaving her when she was so obviously suffering with worry for Jake. He also didn't like the idea of leaving her alone in case whoever had killed the doctor came back.

If he'd been more than a few feet away, he probably would have fought her on the issue, but he'd been in enough battles to know that sometimes falling back was the best option. He'd planted the seeds of hope tonight. After some sleep, and some time for those seeds to grow, she'd be better able to handle moving forward.

The walls were thin. He could hear the sound of water running in the shower next door. He stripped out of his bloody clothes. The shirt was ruined, but his jeans might survive. He shoved them in a plastic laundry bag and sat to wait until Roxanne was done with her shower before he would get one himself, just in case the aging B and B didn't have enough hot water for both of them to shower at the same time.

The thought shoved an image in his head of the two of them showering together and soaping each other up. He hardened in a heartbeat, his cock rising to attention at the stray thought.

Tanner forced his thoughts to go in another direction as he peeled the bandages from his back, desperate to find something to distract himself. His muscles stretched at the awkward angle. His blood beat through his veins, trying to cool his skin. Even clothed in nothing more than a pair of knit boxers, he still felt overheated. Sweat beaded up along his hairline and down his spine. His hands closed into tight fists as he tried to regain control.

He wanted her. And as simple as that fact was, it came with a cargo shipload of problems, not the least of which was that they had to work together. Too bad his libido didn't care.

Soap banged against the bottom of the tub, and he tried really hard not to picture her all soapy and naked, bending over to pick it up.

Of course, trying not to think about it only made things worse. His imagination went wild, filling in all the erotic little details he hadn't had the pleasure of seeing. He'd seen her bare arms and legs when she'd thrown on her workout clothes to clean up the glass, and that alone was enough to give him wet dreams for the rest of his life. She had the kind of body that made his mouth water. Sculpted, but not hard. Sleek but curvy. And her skin was whisper soft. Covered in suds, she'd be even softer. His hands would glide so easily over her slippery skin, finding all the places that made her breath catch when he stroked them.

Tanner gritted his teeth and turned on the TV. The news was on, and an anchorwoman was talking about the economy. She was pretty, but not nearly as hot as Roxanne. Her hair was nice, falling over her shoulders in dark waves that caught the studio lighting.

Razor's hair would be dark blond right now, slicked back from her forehead by the shower. He wondered if the color was natural and if he'd ever get the opportunity to find out. He could see her doing the full spa treatment, wax and all.

Not that he'd ever have the chance to look. The only way he was ever going to see her naked was in his dreams, which was going to be more than enough to make him uncomfortable tomorrow morning.

He knew he'd dream about her tonight. Hell, he was dreaming about her now, and he wasn't even asleep.

The water next door turned off. He made a beeline for the bathroom and took as little time as possible getting clean, ignoring the sting of soap in his cuts. The threat to her safety was real, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be caught in the shower if the bad guys came a-callin'.

The sheriff had been hiding something today. Tanner was sure of it. Maybe it was a mistress or a gambling problem, but Tanner didn't think so. Bream had been smooth, but there had been a couple of flickers of unease that didn't make sense.

Both had happened when he'd been asking questions about the strangers that had come through. It was almost as if the sheriff knew something wasn't right. The question was whether he was trying to figure out the problem or was he part of it.

One thing was for sure: Razor got a strange e-mail from the same town in which a doctor was killed by a man looking for her. That was more than coincidence, and Tanner was going to get to the bottom of it.

He might have let down his family more times than he could count, but he wasn't going to let Razor down. She needed his help, and he was going to see to it that she got it.

Tanner had finally calmed his thoughts and fallen asleep when he heard a noise that was out of place. His mind jolted into wakefulness, his body tensing to act. He lay in bed, breathing quietly, seeking out the source of that sound while his hand moved toward the gun sitting on his nightstand.

He could see nothing out of place in his room. Light from the streetlights outside filtered in around the edges of the shades, allowing him to see without trouble.

A faint scratching sound came from the balcony. It could have been a cat or some other animal, but Tanner wasn't taking any chances.

He rose from his bed and moved on silent feet to the French doors. He lifted the edge of the curtains and peeked out.

No one was out there.

He pushed the curtain open and unlocked the door to get a better look down the long balcony that ran along the building.

From Razor's room came a clatter, as though something hard had fallen onto the floor, followed by a sharp, feminine cry of pain.

Adrenaline surged through him as a hundred different reasons for the noise flew around in his mind. None of them was good.

The balcony door was closest, so he went that way. The wooden deck was rough against his bare feet. In the few seconds it took him to reach her door, he registered the sound of crickets and the scent of heat rising from the asphalt below.

Razor's door was open. Tanner barreled through, his gun drawn and ready.

His eyes were already adjusted to the dimness, so he had no trouble seeing the wiry man who had Razor pinned on her stomach against the bed with her wrists bound. She struggled, but his knee was against her back, keeping her down. Her head was shoved into the mattress, cutting off her air and any screams she might let out. Her arms flailed and her feet kicked, trying to find some target.

The man had a syringe in his hand and was about to inject Roxanne.

The urge to shoot was nearly uncontrollable. It would have been so easy to lift his weapon and fire. But there were other people sleeping here, and the walls were way too thin.

“Stop or I will shoot,” he ordered, aiming his gun for the man's back. He stepped to the right, angling himself so that any stray bullets would go into the exterior wall and not into the room where someone was sleeping.

The man froze and lifted the hand holding the syringe. Tanner followed the movement, but in doing so, he hadn't seen the intruder's intent until too late.

The man slung Razor around, whipping her up against his front as a shield. Her legs were pinned against the bed, her back bent at an extreme angle. She let out a cry of pain.

“Put the gun down or I kill her,” whispered the man.

During the commotion, he'd pulled a gun and had it shoved against Razor's ribs. His other arm was around her throat, cutting off her air as he backed away toward the exit.

Her face became redder as the seconds ticked by. Her legs thrashed, and she pried at his arm with her hands, trying to free herself.

Beneath the man's mask, his dark eyes were flat and emotionless. His hands didn't shake. His voice didn't waver.

This man was a professional.

There were only a few feet separating them. If he could take the man off guard, Tanner could rush him and free Razor.

He set his gun on the floor and met her gaze, hoping she'd see his intent. He moved to stand up again, but halfway through the motion, he pounced, using his legs to propel him forward into the attacker. At the same time, Razor elbowed the man's hand holding the gun, shoving the barrel toward his body. The advantage only lasted for a second, but it was long enough to tackle both of them to the ground.

The man hit hard, letting out a whoosh of air. Tanner slammed his fist into the man's temple, but it didn't even stun him.

The gun came up. Tanner grabbed for it. He recognized the model. The safety was on the side, accessible. With one quick movement, he flipped it on to keep the weapon from firing. The man's other arm was pinned down by Roxanne, who was gasping for her first gulps of air even as she bashed the man's ribs with her elbow.

The intruder was strong—stronger than anyone Tanner could ever remember fighting. Even using two hands against his one, the man wasn't having much trouble controlling the weapon.

He aimed it at Tanner's head and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

A second later, Tanner felt himself flying across the room until he came to a sudden, painful stop against the dresser. Razor had regained her footing and executed a graceful spinning kick right into the man's hand.

The gun skidded across the floor, and from the angle of his fingers, Tanner was sure Razor had broken at least one of them.

Tanner picked up his weapon, but before he could aim, the man scooped up the syringe he dropped, darted out the door, and leaped over the balcony railing.

Someone knocked on the door. “Is everything all right in there?” came the elderly Mrs. Hall's voice.

Tanner ignored the woman and raced to the balcony to see if the man had survived. Not only had he lived through the long fall, but he was on his feet, running. The urge to rush after him was a pounding, hot compulsion. Only his concern for Razor held him back.